


Gentle Touches

by f0rever15elf



Category: Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Pedro Pascal - Freeform, abuse mention, alcohol mention, no y/n
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:09:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29862051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f0rever15elf/pseuds/f0rever15elf
Summary: Maxwell explains you my he hates being touched, giving you a window into his past
Relationships: Maxwell Lord/Reader, Maxwell Lord/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	Gentle Touches

Since the day you met him, Maxwell Lord has made one thing explicitly clear; he does not like to be touched except on his own, explicit terms. This ranges from handshakes to taps on the shoulder to hugs to even, yes, kissing and cuddling. Not that when you first met him that you had any intentions of doing those latter things. You were just an errand girl, after all, and he was a divorced father of one with a singular focus on his failing company. You hardly spoke to him, much less touched him. Not that you… didn’t think about it.

When things began to change, you grew worried, watching him rapidly deteriorate to the point where he was forgetting about his son, the one person who he claimed this entire enterprise was for. But still, he refused to be touched. Not when he stumbled or fell or struggled to get into his plane. No. Hands were to come nowhere near him.

At the collapse of his “empire,” if you could call it that, everyone turned away from him. Everyone, that is, save two people; his son Alistair, and you. The day it all ended, you found him and his son walking along the highway, dodging debris as they made their way back to the building that would soon no longer be his. Pulling over, you honked your horn, offering them a ride to wherever they needed to go. That was the beginning of a journey that less than a year ago you would have never thought you’d ever be on, and the day Maxwell and his son Alistair became permanent fixtures in your life, far beyond the bounds of your boss and your boss’ son.

The bill always comes due, and so it went with Maxwell. He lost his office, his car, his chopper, his house even. But worst of all, he very nearly lost his son. With no place to live and his less than proper parenting behaviors, the courts deemed him unfit to maintain his parental rights, CPS showing up at your door the day after his house was foreclosed on. You could read the panic on Maxwell’s face, the fear on Alistair’s as the men in suits explained the situation, holding a hand out for the boy who refused to go, clinging to his father’s leg. It was only due to some quick thinking on your part, and the words of a certain heroine you had happened to befriend, that Maxwell was given some more time to gather documents for a hearing to maintain his rights, ultimately maintaining his weekends after a probationary period where the CPS agent made regular visits to the home that you opened to the two.

You aren’t sure when it happened, or how exactly the two of you grew so close. Maybe it was when Maxwell saw how good you are to Alistair. Or perhaps it’s the way you help keep him level when he starts that slow descent into panic. Or maybe it’s just the way you are so inexplicably you in everything you do. Whatever the catalyst, it finds you as you are now; officially a couple, sharing your queen sized bed.

Even as a couple, however, the touches are fleeting and completely on Maxwell’s terms. No surprise kisses or hugs from behind. No gentle caresses through the hair that he is slowly letting grow out, trimming away the bad blonde dye job as it does. No mindless hand holding or cuddling during the night. And for the life of you, you can’t seem to figure out _why_ he’s like this. He doesn’t seem to have an issue when it’s his son, but you… it’s almost like there’s some sort of wall keeping the two of you apart when all you want is to be able to hold and care for the man you’ve developed such strong feelings for. But, you suppose, there must be a reason for it, and when he’s ready, you know he’ll tell you.

Tonight, you find yourself once more laying in bed together, yet feeling so far apart. He never faces you when he sleeps, electing to stay close to the edge of his side of the bed, back to you. He curls in on himself when he sleeps, you’ve noticed, and tonight is no exception. What makes tonight different, however, is the sound of the whimpers and groans that wake you.

You think you’re imagining it at first as you slowly come to, rubbing your eyes. The house is quiet, Alistair with his mother for the week. Thinking it’s all your mind playing tricks on you, you slowly lay back down, only to sit back up when a very loud, very scared sounding whimper comes from Maxwell’s side of the bed. Your brow pinches in concern as you watch him, seeing how his body convulses, responding to whatever things are plaguing his dreams.

“N-No, don’t,” he mutters, tossing his head, his eyes pressed tightly closed. “Please, won’t do it again. ‘m sorry.” He curls in tighter on himself, and your heart sinks in your chest listening to the pitiful cries that come from the usually composed man. “It hurts, stop it please. Hurting me.” At that comment, you can’t bear to watch anymore, breaking the unspoken agreement to not touch him so you can rouse him from the demons haunting his dreams.

“Max, sweetheart,” you call to him softly, lightly placing your hand on his shoulder, shaking gently. With a sharp gasp, he sits up, scrambling away from you as he looks around with wide, frantic eyes.

“No, stop! Please don’t hit me again!” Your heart shatters in your chest as you sit frozen, arm outstretched.

“Max, it’s just me. You know me, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” You keep your voice low, trying to soothe him much in the way you would a cornered animal. It takes him a few moments for his mind to catch up that he’s safe here with you, and when he does, his face contorts in agony. Tears brim in his eyes and spill over as a sob wracks his chest, his eyes still on you.

“ _Cariño,_ ” he whimpers in his mother tongue. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey hey hey, shhhh, it’s okay,” you coax, still not moving. “You were having a nightmare…. You’re safe now.”

He slaps a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle his cries as he grasps for his last shred of sanity. Slowly, so as not to startle him, you scoot back into a sitting position against the headboard, opening your arms to him. “I know you don’t like this, touching, but can I comfort you Max? Please?”

He blinks away the tears as best he can, watching you with a wary gaze before the exhaustion overcomes him, his shoulders slumping. His bottom lip trembles as he nods, scooting towards you before leaning forward to rest his head on your shoulder, pressing his face against your neck as he lays against you. You carefully wrap your arms around him, resting lightly against him so he doesn’t feel trapped in your hold as your hands slowly begin stroking his back. “I’m sorry,” he mutters against the soft skin of your neck, shame thick in his beautiful voice.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, darling,” you coo to him softly. “Would you… like to talk about it? It might make you feel better.”

He tenses in your arms at that, and your arms still against his back. “You’ll think I’m a loser,” he whispers.

“Maxwell Lorenzano, I will never, in any life, think you a loser.” You turn your head just enough to press a soft kiss to the side of his head. “You’re my partner, and I want to help you if I can. You can always tell me anything.”

He’s quiet for a long moment at that before slowly relaxing against you. “Sometimes… I dream about my father.” You stay quiet, your hands resuming their gentle caresses up and down his back. Maxwell has never spoken of his family, nor of where he comes from. It’s a topic he actively avoids, in fact. “They are never good dreams. My childhood was… bad.” His arms slowly wind around you, holding to you tightly. “Father was a drunk. He would yell and scream all the time. At me and at my mother. He would throw things when he got really angry. He would hit me.” You can feel the dampness on your neck, fresh tears as Maxwell’s voice grows thicker. “He said so many awful things to me. But I grew up hearing them and I believed them.” He loosens his arms from around you just enough to sit up, looking at you with bloodshot eyes, desperate for _something_.

“Maxwell….” Your own voice is still soft. So gentle and kind and all you want to do is wrap your arms around him and protect him from everything.

“I grew up with so few soft touches. Only from my mother who eventually stopped because Father would hit her when she tried to stop my crying. He kicked me out at 16 and I never went back.” His whole figure shakes, voice tight with some soft of desperation. “Looser, worthless, nothing, disgrace, embarrassment, disappointment. All these things he said to me when he’d scream and kick and beat me and I _don’t want to be touched like that again.”_

You feel breathless, desperation rolling off of him in waves, and it’s suffocating. You can’t even begin to imagine how he feels, out in this storm alone. Slowly, so, so slowly, you lift your hand in front of his face so he can see every movement. You move it closer to his cheek, and he flinches away, regret immediately filling his eyes. “I’m-”

“Shhhh,” you cut him off softly as you tenderly lay your hand against his cheek. He flinches at the contact as well, but he doesn’t try to speak about it this time. “I’m not going to hurt you, Max. I promise.” You cup his cheek gently, lightly tracing your thumb along his cheekbone. “You’re so beautiful, Max. So kind, so loyal, so passionate.” You lift your other hand just as slowly until you’re holding his face in both your hands. “Intelligent, loving, protective. Perfect.”

He lets out a puff of air at that, like you’ve punched him in the stomach, and the tears form anew. “I-I… I’m….” He can’t seem to find the words, so you help him, gently pushing him to the side, easing the two of you over so he’s laying on his back, staring up at you with those big, beautiful brown eyes.

“Will you let me show you how I think you should be touched? How I long to touch you?” He trembles beneath you, fear very present in his eyes. “Do you trust me?” He nods at that, the worry still very much there. “If you want me to stop, I want you to say ‘red.’ Can you do that for me?” He nods again. “Words, Maxwell, I need to hear your words please.” He offers you a soft yes and you nod, accepting the confirmation.

With a smile, you reach down for his hands, holding them in both of your own. You run your thumbs gently over the digits before bringing them up to your mouth to kiss each of his knuckles. You then turn his hands over kissing his palms and wrists, and his breath hitches. Carefully, you set his hands down before running your hands up his arms with just enough pressure for him to feel it through the sleeves of his nightshirt. Your hands make it to his shoulders and then pause, fingers running along the dips along the top of his shoulders. “I wish you could see how beautiful you are, Max. How stunning. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

Your hands continue their way down his chest, a smile over your lips as you feel his heart hammering in beneath his ribs. You lean over slowly, pressing a kiss over his nightshirt, right over his heart. “This heart has so much love to give. And I see it every time you look at your son.” Your hands travel further to his stomach, soft under your touch. He’s always been a little self conscious about it, but you personally love it. Your hands stop their descent, not wanting this to shift into something else, your intentions purely to show him the feel of a tender caress. So, you move your hands back up, tracing them lightly up along the sides of his neck to cup his face again.

“You’re breathtaking, you know that? You have the richest brown eyes I’ve ever seen, and the smile lines at the corners are perfect. When you smile with these angel kissed lips, you have a little dimple that shows right here.” You lean in, kissing over where his dimple makes itself known. “And this nose,” you whisper, tracing a finger along its prominent arch. “It’s so proud and strong. It’s lovely. And this jaw,” you trace it similarly. “It’s strong and confident.” You reach up to brush his locks from his face, the hair curling from his shower before bed. “And your hair is so soft, the curls so beautiful. I love them. I love _you_ , Maxwell.”

Tears brim and spill over, but he does not sob. No, these are the tears cried from an overwhelming onslaught of emotion. His heart has been filled to bursting and so it relieves itself in the only way it can; through tears. “You have been through so much, my love, but you never need to fear such harshness from me.” You lean over, pressing your forehead against his own as you close your eyes. “I love you, and I love everything about you. This will never change, I promise you. My hands are to care for you and protect you, to soothe you when you hurt. I promise they will never cause you pain.”

He whimpers at that, his own arms reaching up to encircle you, pulling you down against him and you oblige, slinging a leg over his hips to lay against his chest. You nuzzle your face against his neck, pressing gentle kisses against his pulse point. “I don’t want to be scared of you,” he finally whispers, voice thick with tears. “I don’t want to push you away.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You accentuate your point with a gentle squeeze followed by a kiss to his jaw. “We take it at your pace. Whatever you need, I’ll give to you. Whatever you want to try, we’ll try, until you’re where you want to be.”

“I know where I want to be.” His grip around you tightens, holding you as close to him as he can. “It’s right here. It’ll always be right here.” 


End file.
